Take me home
by tangerine21
Summary: Jake never got rescued from the mob. Over time it got harder and harder to keep himself clean until one day he fell in too deep. Years later the NYPD bring down his gang, and who should be there to arrest him but his former partner. T for now, endgame Peraltiago but will be a slooooow process.
1. The Arrest

_"_ _NYPD, keep your hands where I can see 'em!"_

5 minutes prior to this outburst of action, two people stepped through the doors of Sal's pizzeria. They went to the counter, quietly ordered two glasses of water and sat down at the table next to the door. Walking to the pizza place they had had a third member of their party, but she had left them a block ago, and was now standing at the joint's rear exit, pretending to be a waitress on a smoke break.

The two who had actually entered Sal's were dressed in entirely neutral clothes, almost conspicuously trying to blend in. One a short man who talked incessantly, would occasionally make disparaging comments about the décor, before being quietly shushed by his companion, a woman in a ponytail, who would every so often cast a furtive glance around the pizzeria, as if she was looking for someone.

With one such glance her eyes locked onto a man reading a newspaper, his hood pulled over his face, which he would periodically stuff with pizza. He was sat near the restroom, only ever diverting his gaze from his reading when the bell on the front door signalled the arrival of a new customer.

As the short man prattled on, the woman kept her eyes locked firmly on the back of the man's head, waiting for him to deviate from his pattern. The water arrived and she briefly turned her attention away to thank the waiter, before returning her gaze to the man in the hoodie. Only he was gone. The restroom door was still swinging shut.

"Look all I'm saying is if your going for that rustic Italian feel, why serve drinks in such kitschy glasses?"

"Charles would you shut up for just one moment!" she snapped. He immediately fell silent, a hurt expression replacing his usual one of perky cheer. "Look, I'm sorry okay, it's just you were distracting me okay? Why don't you make yourself useful and see if the guy in the hoodie went to the bathroom," the woman said in a hushed tone. Charles, as her companion was called, nodded, understanding her intentions immediately. Whatever else you might say about Charles Boyle, he was a good cop when it counted. He rose and began to make his way over to restroom. As he approached the door swung open again and the woman almost flinched, as a man exited. She had good reason to be a bit jumpy today. But she couldn't afford to. She relaxed. It wasn't the guy in the hoodie but just some man in a suit. Something was off about him though, and she racked her brain trying to figure out what it was. Then it struck her. She immediately looked back to her water, remembering that he had taken his backpack to the toilet with him, but now it was nowhere to be seen. She heard him give a quick word of thanks to Sal behind the bar, before making a beeline for the exit.

She could have stood and blocked his path, revealed her weapon and taken him into custody. But that would be too risky especially if Charles didn't know what she was doing while he was stuck in the restroom. And besides, this guy was nothing special. Nor was the guy in the hoodie, in all honesty. It was what they were exchanging that they were after. In the backpack Charles, currently (hopefully) had his eye on was a prize that could spell the end of several long years of painstaking work, the culmination of the combined efforts of dozens if not hundreds of police officers, an investigation which had already cost several lives would hopefully see no more blood spilt after today. And one of the most powerful discrete crime families would have the doors blown wide open on their sordid operation. IF they could get a hold of it. They'd been on the edge for nearly 6 months now waiting for a slip up, a mistake, something like this, a chink in the armour that they could exploit.

They'd received a tip off from an unknown source about a package that had gone missing, one the mob would dearly love to recover with as little mess as possible. Whoever had given them the information clearly knew the mob, and that Sal's pizzeria was one of the few places on the surface they would ever conduct business and even then only in the case of emergencies such as this. It was risky as hell, and it was about to blow up in their face. Again, IF they could get a hold of the package which she had a strong suspicion was now residing in a backpack in the restroom, and would be brought out by the guy in the hoodie.

Even as these thoughts clicked into place in her head, the door swung open. The hoodie, face kept firmly toward the ground, backpack slung casually (too casually) around one shoulder, began to make his way to the front door. Charles was still in there, which was absolutely correct. The last thing they wanted was for this guy to feel like he was being followed. He came with in 10 feet of the door, when the woman stood. Due to the small amount of space in the restaurant, as she rose to her feet, her chair blocked the man's path. He came to a sudden stop and threw his hands in the air, exasperatedly, muttering something that sounded like, "ya kidding me?" under his breath.

"Oh do excuse me," she said. The hoodie seemed to almost freeze at the sound of her voice. "I'm just so clumsy these - "NYPD, keep your hands where I can see 'em!" but he was already running. Commotion took over Sal's pizzeria as the hoodie began to duck and weave around the tables, backpack clattering customers. The woman had drawn her gun effortlessly, thanks to muscle memory, and kept it trained on him even as he dashed for the rear exit.

Charles took this opportunity to exit the restroom only to get body slammed by the escaping crook, straight into the door he'd just come through. "Ow my butt!" he cried as he landed awkwardly on an old injury.

"Oh my god, sorry Charles! Look you try and keep things calm here, I'll go catch this guy," his companion said as she passed him following the runner toward the exit door in the back. Ha she thought, we've got him cornered now. But as she heard the sound of the door opening, she didn't then hear the *THUNK* she was expecting of fist or other implement whacking into someone's skull with incapacitating force. She charged through the door only to see her other partner on her phone while the crook ran down the alley.

"Rosa?!" she yelled as she ran past, making a mental note to admonish her later.

"Sorry," Rosa replied in her usual grumble, "Too deep into character." Amy wasn't listening. She was too determined. This bastard was not getting away, she would make sure. They'd all worked too hard for it to fall apart now. Too much had been lost. Her mind briefly flashed to… him. How he'd struggled for this, how dedicated he'd been, and how he'd died in her arms only a year ago cut down by the mean, hateful, spiteful people like the guy she was now chasing. She could still remember it like it was yesterday. And everytime she did it brought new emotions. Sometimes grief, sometimes denial, sometimes even fear it could happen to her. Now it brought only a deep rage, and it spurred her to run faster than she ever had, faster than, she reflected later in her usually analytical way, was strictly speaking safe.

But it didn't matter. She caught the guy, just as he was about to exit the alley, tackling him with a diving leap. Having brought him to the ground she held him for a few seconds before Rosa arrived, already brandishing handcuffs. She began reading him his rights, almost like clockwork, and after the fact she'd remember how much her voice had been shaking, the feelings of hurt anger and relief all coursing through her body with her blood. It was over, all over, finally. The only thing left to do before dragging the son of a bitch off to prison shortly to be followed by the rest of his mob cronies was to look him in the eye and tell him what it meant to her. And maybe allow herself a bit of a gloat.

She yanked him up by his hands and turned him round to face her, a little rougher than she needed to. She pulled his hood back, and then she saw his face. How long had it been? 3 years? 4? He'd aged in that time. He was skinnier, bruised and had more scars. And to be honest he looked a total wreck. But it was him. She'd know his face anywhere.

Everything she wanted to say. All the things she wanted to say to him, this previously abstract faceless _him,_ this object of her hatred, who had taken so much from her and now was going to bring her so much relief and maybe even closure for her past had now melted away. She didn't feel like gloating, or raging or in fact making any noise at all. She just stood there, not really believing it was him. His eyes were glued to the floor. She couldn't tell what expression was on his face. But he'd clearly clocked who it was arresting him before her. His eyes moved but he was looking anywhere other than at her.

Rosa, perhaps wondering what the problem was, walked round their collar to look at his face. She was for perhaps the first time in her life, genuinely shocked.

"Jake?" she breathed out.

Hello! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter of "Take me home". Afraid I can't promise a regular update schedule, but I'm super excited with this opening. If you wanna see more, please follow, favourite and leave reviews and that will encourage me to do more.

Not to give too much away, but effectively this is an AU where for various reasons, Jake never got rescued from the mob and fell in too deep. This will ultimately be the story of how the rest of the 99 try to bring him back, if that's possible. T for now, endgame Peraltiago but will be a slooooow process.


	2. The Aftermath

Author's note

Just btw, in this story I'm conflating the Figgis mob with the Ianucci's, since they serve basically the same plot function. So essentially all the same stuff happened (obvs minus Jake) involving Pimento and Bob and that storyline.

"Amy?"

It had been a long day for the detective. It had been a long year. In a sense she was relieved, but there were still nagging doubts. Sure they had the Iannucci mob bang to rights now. It was only a matter of time before they were all brought to justice. But that didn't give her the years back. It wouldn't bring _him_ back from the dead.

Peralta was currently sat in the interrogation room, handcuffed to a table. His bag had been placed in the evidence locker, the drugs inside it, all the proof the NYPD needed to conduct a full-scale raid of Ianucci warehouses. The 99 as one of the key arbiters of the investigation were now kicking around the precinct, filling out the last of their paperwork so the taskforce could begin their mass arrest. SWAT teams all around Brooklyn, all round New York city in fact would be kicking down doors, busting through windows and blasting through walls in a matter of hours. It was the end for this crime family, at least.

Amy had, of course, scythed through her paperwork, if anything faster and more precisely than usual. But she took no pleasure in it. She just wanted it to be finished, so she could go and have a cigarette. She didn't even stop to help anyone else, even as Scully looked up at her mournfully from beneath his mountainous stack of forms. She went to the break room and out the door that lead to the rooftop courtyard, watched intently by most of the members of her precinct.

She went to the edge of the roof, looking out over the streets below, as her cigarette burned weakly in the winter sun. It was cold, but she didn't so much care. Secretly she rather liked smoking on a rooftop in the cold weather. It made her feel like she was in one of those bleak Scandinavian crime dramas. She'd been there for hardly a minute when Charles poked his head out the door to see if she was ok.

"Hey Ames, if you need someone to talk to, I'm happy to, but just know that this temperature makes my pores go all kinds of screwy so…"

"Don't worry about me Charles, I'm good."

He looked at her for a couple of seconds, confirming tacitly that he did not believe her, but nevertheless he closed the door and went back to his desk. Whatever was going on in her brain was not something he or his pores were qualified to deal with.

One by one the rest of the squad also came to check up on her, except for Hitchcock and Scully who in a rare moment of tact, sensed that their presence would do more harm than good. Terry came first brandishing large yogurt pots and a couple of spoons.

"Probably not the best time to make this pitch, but can I interest you in a stress relief technique that doesn't give you emphysema?" he said holding out one of the pots. She smirked at him, and took it gratefully.

"Hitchcock and Scully said we could use their deck chairs but I don't really want my butt touching anything theirs have, you feel?"

She nodded, putting out the cigarette so she could open up her yogurt.

"So," continued Terry, "I swiped a couple of bean bags from the break room." She smiled. Terry was such a dad, and such a kid at the same time. They plopped down together and ate in silence for a minute or two, looking out at the city.

"We got 'em Sarge, didn't we? It wasn't some dream was it? I didn't hallucinate the whole thing?"

"Nope. Once we fill out all the warrants and transfer them to task forces, they'll be good to take down that whole damn nest of rats."

She nodded, looking down at her yogurt. It was delicious but for some reason she couldn't seem to enjoy it the same way Terry did. Well no one enjoyed yogurt _quite_ like Terry but still.

"So why don't I feel something? I should feel, well I don't know what, but it shouldn't be… _this_ ," she motioned at her general person. "I don't feel anything. Just like I need to sleep for a week."

Terry didn't really know what to say. He could relate though. "Then maybe you just need some time off. I know for a fact you haven't taken a personal day since you got here, and you haven't had any vacation in a year. Time to cash in. Go home in the evening and don't think about police work just for a bit."

She laughed mirthlessly, "What else do I have to think about?"

Terry looked stunned, but then realised that when you have a spouse and kids, it's a hell of a lot easier to take your mind off the job. "Aw dude, I'm sorry," He started, before she interrupted him.

"No, it's fine. You're right. I don't know what I need right now, but it's definitely not another case. It's just… we've worked so goddamn hard. And now we've won. But what do we get? Commendations, promotions sure, but none of that matters, because the one thing I want is the life they took from me, and that's something I can never get back." She meant that quite literally, Terry knew. He'd been the one who'd found them there on the floor of warehouse, the one who'd had to hold Amy down, to stop her from charging the mobsters in a blood fury, armed with nothing but her teeth. He'd had to help Amy sort through his stuff.

So, he knew exactly why she was struggling to find the positives in this situation. He pulled her into a hug which she gratefully accepted. "I don't even feel sad anymore. I just don't feel anything," she said into the warmth of his absurdly toned pecs.

"Terry." Rosa's gruff voice intoned from behind them. "Your wife's here." Terry looked up from the embrace and nodded at his colleague. He had hardly seen Sharon or the kids in the last few months, as things with the mafia had started to heat up. She had been as understanding as she could but had told him the second they broke the case she would take him home, and he was only too happy to go. He hated to leave Santiago alone though, and as he rose to return indoors he exchanged a meaningful look with Rosa.

"You thinking about Teddy?" She asked bluntly, plopping down next to her fellow detective on the beanbag. Amy took a moment before she nodded.

"Sort of. I'm just struggling to get my head round the situation. I almost can't believe it's all over. I guess I'm still trying to process everything that's happened in the last few years. All that we've… just everything you know?"

"I get it," Rosa replied before handing Amy a glass bottle. She took it almost greedily, she could definitely use a drink right now, but her natural Santiago-ness still shone through.

"How did you get beer into the precinct, and how is it cold?" she asked, before getting the bottle opener tool on her pen knife out to open it.

"I don't think you need the answer to either of those questions," Rosa said secretively, cracking the top off on the heel of her heavy-duty boots. Amy said nothing, only let the cold amber liquid tumble down her throat, before remembering she hadn't finished the yogurt. Eventually Rosa buckled under the silence. "I have a mini-fridge under my desk, don't tell Holt."

Amy grinned genuinely, for the first time in a while. It was amazing what you could get out of people simply by sitting there and letting them fill the gaps in the conversation. She was thinking of writing a paper on it, to submit it as a soft interrogation technique.

"Rosa, you should know me better than that. I know I'm a stickler for the rules, but I'm also not a snitch."

"I know," she replied smiling.

Amy took another sip of the beer. "How's it going for you then? You must be pleased. Maybe Pimento will resurface."

Rosa chuckled, "Yeah, I don't know whether I'm gonna keep that going to be honest."

"What? You guys were going to get married, before he got chased away to Argentina."

"I know. I think we were both a bit blinded by how awesome the sex was. And I mean it was good, I've never met anyone so comfortable with being–"

"I mean we can just skip the details Rosa if you don't mind, I basically already had to see you guys shacking up everyday at work for a month."

"Haha. Yeah I guess we were a bit pda weren't we? I don't know, there was just this evening we had to ourselves, and after we'd done it for like the 5th time, we just started talking… it was weird."

"Yah that is weird," Amy said nonplussed.

"Turns out we actually have very little in common. He's just way too normal for me."

"Normal? Well that's one way of looking at it yes…"

"He's not someone I could see myself being with… on a permanent basis, and I don't believe in wasting my time."

"That's… actually really great Rosa. Like a super-healthy attitude."

"Huh. Thanks Ames," the detective sat back in her chair and took a large swig of her beer. "So… you sure your feeling okay?"

Amy took another drink before answering, "I should be happy right? We got those bastards, I can see them behind bars, where they can't hurt anyone but themselves."

Rosa only half-agreed, but knew this was a delicate situation. Slightly out of character, she tiptoed toward her point, "I mean sure, but… I don't know about you but if I'd had to go through… what you went through," she took another deep swig, "I'd want nothing more than to just put a boot through a mobster's face. It was bad enough when they chased Adrian away. If he'd actually died… I don't think anything would've stopped me, from doing something really, really… bad."

Amy nodded, "Uh-huh. That sounds pretty familiar. I don't know though, rage can be so tiring. At some point you've just got to accept certain things are out of your control, and the worst thing you could do is give into the hate, because… well because then they win ya know?"

"I get it. Jesus who's meant to be comforting who here," Rosa chuckled.

Amy looked her in the eye, "We all lost things. We've all been hurt by these guys. I think we could all do with a bit of comforting," she said, gently patting her fellow detective on her leather-clad shoulder. Rosa caught her hand and held it there giving it a small squeeze and flashing a rare smile.

They'd finished the beer. There was an elephant in the room, and Rosa knew that she was not in the least prepared to deal with it. That would be the captain's job she decided, before abruptly standing.

"Okay, this is more sappy bullshit than I'm paid to endure so Imma head inside." Amy grinned again, and mouthed a 'thank you' to her colleague and her friend. She leant back in beanbag and saw the sun already beginning it's descent over the horizon, lighting the sky with reds and pinks.

"Beautiful sunset isn't it?" came a deep timbred voice behind her. It was the Captain, although in this setting he felt more like the ghost of Christmas future.

She didn't turn around but then in her peripheral vision, which had been labelled the sharpest in the NYPD at a sight training seminar, she saw a glass of amber liquid. It was a very nice-looking glass, with its convex shape and the ridges carved into the middle. She took it carefully.

"It's a twenty-five year old Glenlivet single malt scotch whisky," Captain Holt intoned with his usual factual detail, "I thought it appropriate considering the weather, the season… and how much work you've put into your job in the last few months."

Amy nodded her gratitude before taking a sip. It was nice. It made her throat burn but in the pleasing way that scotch is wont to do. Normally she would be searching for flavours, for undertones but right now her brain just wasn't up to it.

She saw that Holt was still standing and patted the seat next to her expectantly, something she never would've done in a normal frame of mind. It was so… informal.

"I've never sat in one of these… bags of beans before," he said suspiciously but sensing the conversation couldn't continue with him still looming above her, he cautiously lowered himself to the seat. His face contorted slightly as his buttocks underwent this new experience, but he seemed to find it comfortable enough.

"Speaking of your work ethic and that of your colleagues, I'll be writing the entire squad up for commendations, Hitchcock and Scully included," her eyebrows raised at the last part. He understood her confusion, "I understand your confusion Santiago, but for two veteran officers, they have gone far beyond their remit in this operation – you all have done far more than should be expected of cops, even by the high standards you already set. It's the least you deserve."

She tried to force a smile at that. "Thanks. Coming from you that means a lot." She meant that. A few years ago Amy would've been cartwheeling around the roof, by now.

"I though you'd be cartwheeling around the roof by now. You realise that the next time a post opens up you will almost certainly be on the shortlist for captain?"

"What can I say? I guess my priorities have changed."

Holt nodded sagely, "Years fighting the mob'll do that to you."

"Plus, I mean that really isn't why we put in all that work you know? We did it because…"

"Don't worry Santiago, I know you would give me your all regardless. But there are times I wonder."

Amy frowned, "Wonder what? That we might go bad just cos we don't always get medals?"

Holt smiled, "A contraction and you dropped the 'be' from 'because'. That must have really riled you." It both delighted and upset her that he could read her so well. "You remember Bob don't you? Bob Annnderson?"

"The FBI dirt bag who nearly sold us to those mob bastards? Yeah I remember him all too well."

"Whatever he may have become, when he was younger, he was one of the most dedicated investigators I ever had the pleasure to work with. He never stopped. And I firmly believe that, at least to begin with it was because he genuinely wanted to help keep people safe from punks like the Ianucci's. But people took him for granted. Things go wrong on the streets, crimes happen and people blame anyone but the criminals because the criminals can't be seen. They'll blame kids, old people, immigrants, police, agents. I think that Bob just wanted someone to properly appreciate the work he was willing to do. Who knows? Maybe we could learn a lesson or two from the mob. How to keep your employees happy for one."

Amy was stunned, and Holt noticed her expression.

"Am I saying I don't love my job? Of course not. And I know you love yours. But it's a hard job especially for people like us. So from time to time people need a handout or two. Why do you think I let Rosa keep her beers in that minifridge under her desk? Because it helps her get through the rough days. Cops need that sometimes, because we don't always get the gratitude we deserve. And the last thing I want is for you to feel like your work isn't appreciated. Isn't noticed. The last thing I want is to let you down."

They both took another pull of the scotch.

"It's good," Amy said, not really capable of much more expansion than that. "Thank you, sir. I'd never want to let you down either."

"I know Amy." Holt shuffled around slightly, "As cautious as I was to begin with, I think I'm really starting to like these beadbag things," he said. Amy stifled a giggle. "I think I might need to show these to Kevin, they are quite something."

Amy couldn't help herself. She laughed long and hard, her scotch sloshing around her cup, thankfully not spilling as it had clearly been quite expensive. For the first time in a long time, she felt even vaguely normal, as if things had reset to before all the craziness started.

Things stopped seeming so normal seconds later, however.

Holt cleared his throat, "There was another matter I thought I should discuss with you." By the tone of his voice, Amy had already guessed where the conversation was going, and it was not a direction she wanted it to go.

"I think you know the subject to which I am referring," he said suggestively.

"Does it start with a J and end with an 'acob Peralta'? What about him?"

Holt was slightly taken aback. Her response had been rather more caustic than he was expecting. Then again, he wasn't quite sure what he was expecting.

"You two were partners for a long time, and quite close friends as I recall. He was… unfortunately sucked into the mob while undercover and you saw him for the first time in several years, this very morning. Do you understand why I thought I should make you aware of the score before things were set in motion?"

Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was a lack of food and sleep, but most likely it was both. Amy began to speak very freely, "Look, whatever we were matters jackshit now. Sure we were good partners, great partners even. And we were close, of course we were, but do you know what? That closeness kind of went away. A few years apart will do that to you, oh that and the fact that he's a piece of human garbage who jumped at his first chance to join a mafia family."

"Santiago, that's enough Peralta was –"

"Look I get it. Undercover missions are hard and dangerous and they take their toll. But we just spent the last 6 months of our lives giving our blood sweat and tears to taking down the very organisation he betrayed us for. I'm sorry if I seem a bit unsympathetic but I lost too much fighting him to feel sorry for him right now, and you of all people should know that. Right now, nothing will delight me more than knowing that he and all the rest of those rats are going away for a long old time. I know you were trying to slow walk me through it because you thought maybe I might be upset at the thought of an old partner going to jail, but trust me, all I wanna know is how many years he's getting and where he'll be so I can find him and tell him what a piece of shit he is."

Holt was silent for a long time. Amy, her rant expired, sank back into the bean bag, feeling a flood of emotion rising to her face. She wouldn't cry though. She'd spent far too much time doing that.

"Actually, I was going to inform you that Peralta, of course following a psych eval, will be fully acquitted for his actions over the past few years and released under observation. I was hoping he would rejoin the 99 and the squad, you included would be part of his rehabilitation.

Amy thought she'd been stunned before when she'd seen Jake. Now she was properly floored.

"What?"


End file.
